


Pack Christmas!

by Arvak



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Derek carves artwork into wood, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Magic Stiles Stilinski, Mistletoe, Pack Christmas, Peter is altruistic for once, Peter is thankful, Post Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles is Magic, The Hale House is Rebuilt, a lot of fluff, and happiness, story time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21756700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arvak/pseuds/Arvak
Summary: When they got inside, Peter pulled him over to the desk at the windows, then stopped right in front of it and turned towards him. Stiles stared at him, expecting him to say something, but all Peter did was point above them with the hand that wasn't holding his.Stiles looked up at the soft orange light above them and saw a little bundle of mistletoe hanging from it. Before the meaning of this even clicked, Peter's hand slid along the side of his neck, thumb pressing into the underside of his jaw. Stiles looked down at him, and they stared at each other for a moment. Stiles' heart had taken lift-off and his brain was trying to run a million miles an hour, but it was all silent nothings. Like he was running along a track that wasn't there."Peter..." Stiles said breathlessly, a little scared but too wanting to pull away.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 16
Kudos: 349





	Pack Christmas!

**Author's Note:**

> Here's another story that's been sitting for a while <3

Christmas: cold weather, carols and music, food and presents, friends and family. The scent of pine and cookies, the trill of a piano, fuzzy clothes and stupid hats and jackets. Joyous moods and smiles, hugs and mistletoe, dancing and laughing...

Christmas has always been a touchy subject for the Hales. After all, for them, Christmas was supposed to mean brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers and cousins and grandparents... That's all gone. Now all they have is this weak, rag-tag pack of juvenile delinquents that give them more shit than a single person should have to endure.

-

"Erica! The green beans!! Don't you _dare_ let them burn because you're too busy ogling the decorations!!"

"You have to give everyone a turn, Lydia!"

"You'll get your frigging turn after the food is done!!"

-

The first few pack Christmases were horrible catastrophes. All good intentions, of course, but they just went terribly wrong. The first one, five years ago, the pack had decided to surprise the Hales with a fully decorated loft to come home to a day from Christmas Eve.

Derek had seen the tree and the decorations and smelt the food and the "cheer" and had fled the house with eyes burning livid bright red. Peter had stayed a little bit longer at the door, taking everything in, but he, too, had sighed, shoulders hunched like he had taken a physical blow, and left.

The pack had stood there stunned, feeling like the scum of the Earth and all holiday cheer had been effectively ruined. Everyone had left and saved their presents for next year.

But Stiles had snuck back over to the loft Christmas day with his presents for the Hales because he couldn't just not give out presents. His heart had clenched in pain when he had walked in to an empty loft, all of the decorations strewn about the floor. Garlin was ripped and torn like it had taken hours to do so, the sparkly plastic coating the floor like snow, the tree had been broken, each ornament shattered on the floor, all of the Christmas lights torn and thrown so hard against the walls that the little bulbs had cracked the wood - a few even still hung, the bulbs embedded in the wall so well it held the weight of the rest of the wire. It was devastating how much the Hales had retaliated against Christmas.

-

"ISAAC! GET OFF THE TREE!"

"But it's totally big enough! Look, I'm almost to the top!"

-

The Christmas after that, the Hales had skipped town the entire week. Stiles still had their presents and thought about learning a tracking spell just so that he could mail them their gifts, but he thought better of it. At least that year the pack had been able to have a cheerful holiday amongst themselves at Stiles' house.

There's still silly string dried to the wall behind the TV from that day.

-

" _Sheriff!_ I respect you _highly_ , but if you don't get your fingers out of the pudding, I _will_ castrate you... And your son for that matter!"

"What?! I didn't even do anything!"

"You're guilty by association!"

-

It took the third year to get the Pack Christmas in motion. Stiles, Lydia, Melissa and the Sheriff had to corner the Hales in the loft before they could escape town and talked to them. _Really_ talked. Like, emotional baggage unpacking talk. Lydia had been harsh and blunt and pointed out that the pack _needs_ their Alpha and abandoning them on a day about family and love was _neglectful._ Melissa had been empathetic and went on about a mother's love and how, if she was gone, she'd never want Scott to abandon tradition. The Sheriff had sympathized with them, acknowledging the trauma they'd gone through, but turned around with his _'dad voice'_ and reiterated that running was not the solution. And Stiles...

Stiles had taken one look at the Hales, sat on the couch staring up at their only authority with hurt in their faces and moisture-rimmed eyes and he had choked down a lump in his throat. He can't remember the last time he'd seen either of the Hales so vulnerable. He'd never seen that much emotion on them. It was _heartbreaking,_ and Stiles isn't even that much of a sympathetic person!

In the end, heavy under the weight of both the Hales' sad gazes, he had said in a quiet voice only one sentence: "You can keep running if you really want to, but only as long as you know that _we_ are what you come back to; your _pack;_ your _family_."

-

" _Derek!! You're supposed to be the example-setter!!! What are you doing?!?!_ "

"There are _plenty_ of cookies. Leave me alone."

-

That year, after the intervention, the Hales had sat off in the corner while the pack had Christmas at Lydia's. There were games and intoxicants and it had been wondrous. Stiles had just been happy that they had showed up.

The year after that, the party was at Lydia's again and the Hales had been more interactive. They ate, played a few card-games, sat quietly while the pack played console games and screamed obscenities at each other.

The last pack Christmas was nothing short of awful. It had been held at Stiles' house, if only because it was the closest residency that they could lay up and rest at. The pack had just gone up against an army of the fucking undead and everyone was still healing. There had been soft music playing in the background while the pack spent most of the time sipping on soup, splayed out on the couches and groaning with every movement. The ones that could move their arms and settle into some sort of semi-sitting position played cards while the others watched movies and grumbled incoherently due to the pain medication Deaton had given them. It was, needless to say, completely depressing, but still relatively pleasant considering how most of their pack interactions end up.

Christmas is difficult enough with family. It's even harder with pack.

But Stiles likes to think they still make it work... you know, in their own fundamentally flawed way.

This time, they'll do it right.

-

"Okay!" Lydia huffed loudly and rose her voice over all the noise. Because, naturally, she is the drill sargent of every get-together. "Sheriff, Stiles, help me with the food."

The two Stilinskis obeyed and joined Lydia in the kitchen, grabbing pan after plate after bowl and bringing them to the table. The thing Lydia didn't know was that putting a Stilinski in charge of food was guaranteed to mean that there was going to be some food unaccounted for during its movement. Stiles saw that his dad's cheeks were stuffed and grinned around his own stuffed mouth. The Sheriff winked and then snatched a napkin to wipe off his mouth.

This Christmas was held at the Hale house. Yes, the Old Hale House. The Hales had gotten it rebuilt this year and this was the first gathering held in it. The house was beautiful, furnished and everything, nearly an exact replica to the original, Derek had said, except for the wall of windows in front of a desk across from the front door, modeled after the loft.

It was very beautiful, and it was even more beautiful decorated with the garlin and lights that Lydia helped Stiles put up.

After the food was on the table, Lydia clapped loudly and continued to holler at Isaac to get off the tree. Erica, Boyd, Scott, Jackson and Melissa all hurried to the table and the Sheriff had to control the mongrels from shoveling food onto their plate before everyone was seated.

"The Alpha gets first pickings," Derek said as he shouldered Jackson and Erica out of the way and grabbed the biggest helping of each food item.

"I don't like that rule," Isaac complained, slyly reaching his fork out to try to grab a piece of meat and getting stabbed in the back of his hand by Scott, to which Melissa hissed, "No bloodshed at the dinner table!"

"In every wolf pack ever, the Alphas got the privilege of eating their fill of the kill first," Stiles informed Isaac. He looked a little interested and Stiles silently made a face at him - did he really not know that? After so long of being half wolf, he would at least expect the idiots to do _some_ kind of research into their canid brothers.

"Doesn't the fact that we're only _half_ wolf make a difference?" Erica asked. Well, pleaded, more like. She and Lydia were wrestling over the silverware. Both of them wanted the "special" set which was engraved because the Hales didn't have enough sets, so Melissa brought over her special stash.

"It doesn't when the Alpha likes the rule," Derek shot back. He grabbed a scoop of green beans and then walked over to the end of the table. At that moment, every wolf in the room stared at him, poised for movement. Derek glanced at all of the hungry eyes watching him and a smile appeared on his face, strained like he was trying very hard to bite it back but didn't succeed.

Derek purposefully walked slower, turned like he was an old man moving .00001 miles an hour, and then very, very slowly took a seat at the end of the table.

As soon as his (very perfect) ass hit the chair, the monsters dived for the food. Stiles and Peter stood back with matching expressions of surprise and exasperated amusement. Out of all of them, Derek, Stiles and Peter were the most likely to sit back and watch the chaos instead of joining in. Even the Sheriff and Melissa were fighting off the savage beasts clawing for their own helpings of food.

The imagery was fantastic.

Finally, everyone was sat down and happily digging in. That was when Stiles and Peter took their time picking through the rest of the food to fill their plates. Stiles and Peter both stepped for the table at the same time, bringing them shoulder to shoulder. Stiles took a step back and gave him an awkward flail and nod to the table, gesturing for him to go first. After all, Stiles was a human among wolves. It only natural for him to go last.

Except, Peter quietly purred, "After you, dear," with a genuinely pleasant smirk. Stiles blinked at him, floored by his uncharacteristic niceness. He'd suspect infectious holiday cheer to be the reason for someone's mood to change to something uncharacteristically jolly, but that only applies to normal people who feel such emotions.

Stiles blames the weed-like strain of wolfsbane they put in the cookies earlier. They weren't supposed to touch them until they were cooled off, but he wouldn't put it past Peter to snatch one or two.

Conversation flittered around the table during the meal. Stiles didn't track it all that well. He was preoccupied thinking about the gift exchange. He had a few very important and unique presents to give out and he was eager to get to them.

Ever since he finally figured out the workings of his Spark, he's been training and excelling. Deaton was impressed.

He can manipulate magic now. Really well, even if he does say so himself. He used his newfound knowledge to make sure he'd be the best present-giver today. He was excited to see everyone's reactions, excited to show off what he can really do. But he was nervous, because, if there's one thing true about this world, anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Murphy was one hell of a glorified philosopher.

Regardless, today was good. He, Lydia and Melissa (with the help of the Sheriff... a little bit) spent _weeks_ trying to make this Christmas work. The last Christmas had fallen through the cracks due to injury, but this Christmas would _work_. It had to. It'd been too long without it, and it's the best time for it; the pack is more settled with each other and stronger than ever what with the ties that Stiles was able to anchor in with his magic powers or whatever (apparently being a Spark means he's an emissary? Whatever that means. Deaton has yet to explain it to him. When he had "tied the pack together" he'd passed out from exhaustion and slept for about three days. Deaton figured it was best to wait a while before broaching that subject again. He'll go in next week to continue training. But he knows that, basically, he's responsible for the pack's general livelihood, like their temperament, their physical self, their emotions and pain, ... Wait... He's the pack therapist. Oh god.

Although, Lydia had used the words "Alpha equals pack Dad. Emissary equals pack Mom".

Stiles would prefer to be a therapist).

Stories had been being tossed back and forth around the table for about half an hour now, and Stiles dragged himself back to the present to pay attention, if only to distract himself from the turmoil inside his head. Still, the universe likes to punish him, so while he waited impatiently for when they actually moved on to the presents, Melissa began telling a lengthy story that Stiles didn't really care for.

"Okay, my turn. Do I have a story for _you!_ So, there was this guy in the ER today." Melissa said just before shoving a fork-full of shepherd's pie in her mouth. "Just walked in with only a robe on," she said around the food in her mouth. "Not even shoes, okay? Just a robe. A ratty old robe _in this weather_... And he had managed to get his head stuck in a _log."_

"A log? Like a wooden log? Like, piece-of-a-tree log?" Erica asked, brows raised and mouth pulled into an already amused grin.

Melissa gestured at Erica excitedly with her fork. "Yes! Apparently he thought he saw a snake in it. I..." She laughed and shook her head. "I don't know why he thought sticking his head as far as it would go inside of an enclosed space like that when he thought there was a _snake_ was in it would help him out... But, I guess you can't fix stupid. Turns out there was no snake, thank god...

"Anyway, he walks in." She chuckled to herself and rubbed her face like it was painful just to look back at the memory. "And his buddy is beside him, and he comes up to the counter to talk to Mary about what happened. So I turned around to fill out his papers. Then I hear this muffled... _yelp_ , I guess? Like, a kind of noise I'd never expect to come from a _man_. Just pure emotional distress."

Stiles picked at his food, studiously listening but still eager to move on from the food part of this evening. Bring on the presents! Come on! The nervous energy is killing him.

"And I look over," Melissa continued, "and log-head had stepped on the belt of his robe and pulled it out of its loops!"

There were a few groans around the table. Stiles smiled at the imagery going through his head.

Melissa put up her hands. "Now, he's in his 30's... And he's... he's not all that unattractive, honestly. But, when he let go of the log to grab the robe and cover himself, he shouted again and - it's heavy, alright? And without his hands to steady the weight, it pulled him backwards." There were a few giggles and Melissa shook her head and threaded her hand through her hair.

"So now he's splayed out on the floor, robe wide open baring _everything_ to anyone looking while his head's still stuck in a heavy log. Right in the middle of the ER. _My_ ER! He's _my_ responsibility! So everyone's looking at me!" More giggles. "His buddy! His buddy does nothing! His buddy just starts laughing and taking a video."

"Some friend," Scott snorted, and got a glare from Isaac since Scott had done roughly the same thing to him last month when his shorts got caught on a branch and tore off of him while he was going commando. Actually, now that he thinks about it, Scott took a picture of Stiles when he was stuck upside down in a cargo net when they'd gone to a boy-scouts-esque summer camp about 3 years ago.

Stiles joined Isaac in glaring at his floppy-haired friend.

"Someone had to help him," Melissa continued. "But no one wanted to go near him. And this poor man - I think his name was Levi. He's just completely bare - completely nude... and Mary makes _me_ help him, because - get this; she said she couldn't because she was _married_ and she didn't trust herself with an attractive, naked man completely helpless and in need of her." A few snorts and laughs. "So I had to go over to this guy who's still trying to talk and shout in the log, and he's even kicking and squirming around..." She paused to let the chuckling and murmuring stop. "I got up close and personal with _all_ of him trying to get him on his feet so I could wrap the belt back around him... At one point, he... you know, he stumbled while I was bent down to grab the belt and..." She flapped her hands several times with a burning red face. "Well, you know..."

"You got a face-full of hot stranger cock," Erica finished elegantly, and everyone (save for Derek and Peter, of course) began laughing their asses off (including Stiles, except his laughter was substantially laced with sympathetic horror). Scott ended up choking on his water and spit it all over Isaac when he turned away from the food. Isaac punched him.

Once the laughter sobered up a little, Melissa sighed, then smiled wistfully. "Anyway, it gets really dangerous to break anything so close to such a vital body part. So I had to call in a Search and Rescue guy named Leroy who _builds boats in his basement_ in his free time - to help. We had to go really slow with actual wood-carving tools to whittle it away bit by bit. When we finally got the log off of his head, he looked at me, and laughed, and he said, 'Well, Leroy's hair is short so that must've been _your_ hair I felt on my junk'."

"Oh god," Scott said, obviously mortified while the rest broke back into laughter again.

"The worst part was that I saw something under his robe _move_." Melissa grimaced hard, then broke out into cackles when the laughter turned into amusedly disturbed groans.

"I got a story!" Erica said, tossing her hair over her shoulder and gearing up for another humorous monologue.

Stiles sat back in his seat, stomach happily full of good food, and wondered when the story time would end. And, like an answer from the fucking universe, that was when Derek leaned over to Peter, who was sat beside him, and said something into his ear. Both of them excused themselves and walked into the kitchen.

Stiles, from the other side of the table, jumped on this wonderful opportunity and got up as well. He grabbed empty plates as he went as an excuse to leave, and followed the Hales into the kitchen.

"What's up?" Stiles asked as he set the dishes in the sink.

"Nothing," Derek said, even as he and Peter both snatched a few of the wolfsbane-weed laced cookies. Stiles watched them, suspicious of their nonchalance.

"Story time," Peter told Stiles after noticing his suspicion, "was a tradition in the family."

Stiles blanched, heart clenching in fear. Did they just fuck this Christmas up, too? But, he noticed, neither Hale looked particularly bothered. Maybe a little sad and ragged at the edges, but they still looked content. "Oh," Stiles replied after an awkward beat. Peter smirked at him and then looked over at Derek.

"Shall we lead them away from the table so the night may consist of more than outrageous, half-fabricated stories?" Derek grunted noncommittally and Peter took that as a yes.

Recently, "pack meetings" (or whatever they liked to call the nights the pack gets together and strategizes on how to defeat the latest threat terrorizing the town or does their homework together or sometimes just exists within the same room for an extended amount of time) have become more than just mutual necessity to be near each other. Now, they're about friendship and company. Everything is so much more set in place. It's like, until now, this pack has been connected but has been out of their niche wherein they would fit most comfortably, forever out of sync with themselves.

But now they were finally settled. Everything felt right. Even he and Jackson are semi-friends now, which is way better than the promise of an imminent fight if they were in the same room together, as they had been. They work together better, get in less arguments and fights, don't ruffle feathers (or fur) as often.

It's been really, really good.

Stiles sat with his friends and family surrounding him in the living room on the couches and chairs around a coffee table with a small tree sapling in the center, cluttered by boxes and packets of wrapped presents. With a smile on his face, he looked around and reminisced. He thought back to how broken they had all been, and looked now at the strength that held them together. He, with the help of his Spark, could faintly feel the joy thrumming through all of them, shrouding the air of the room in warm, welcome whispers of a truly stable pack.

"As the mother of the house," Melissa said, drumming her hands on her knees, "I believe I get to go first." She reached forward to the table and took out three presents. One was roughly the size of a shoe box, the next the size of a book, possibly, and the other a fat envelope, each wrapped in sparkling blue paper. She handed them out to the excited three that received them and the rest watched them tear their gifts open.

This continued around the haphazard circle of excited heathens within the living room. Stiles vaguely payed attention, but found that he couldn't stop nervously staring at his own presents, absolutely innocent in their black and red plaid wrapping paper. Small and seemingly insignificant, but with so much care and dedication put into them that they were surely nothing of the sort.

After the rest had gone and each person had a small heap of funny and thoughtful presents alike, it was just Stiles and the Hales left.

He looked to the two older men expectantly. He was resolute in going last. His plan depended on it. Luckily, Peter tossed the same look to Derek, who grunted and got up.

He walked over to the desk by the window and opened the bottom drawer, reaching in and pulling out a handmade wooden box about 14 by 7 inches. He brought it over and set it down on the table in front of him. When he opened it, the hinges creaked.

One by one, Derek handed a carved wooden figurine to each person. Each figurine was carved with careful care, impossibly detailed and shaded with a pyrography pen. Each of them, as well, were themed towards the person they went to.

To the Sheriff, he gave a carving of a K9 unit dog, equipped with the vest and everything, symbolizing the police work he does. To Melissa, a sleek dolphin jumping out of water, because it was no secret that Melissa loved dolphins. He had even captured the natural movement of the water, as if someone had taken the carving from the actual scene, freezing it in time.

He gave Lydia an exact replica of Prada, who she'd lost last summer unexpectedly to natural causes. Lydia stared at it, sniffling quietly and running her thumb along it.

To Isaac was a small, wavy-furred, darker colored wolf. Its stature was tight and subdued, yet its head was tilted thoughtfully, capturing Isaac's cautious but intense nature. Scott got a shorter haired wolf, stood at attention with ears straight up and alert, tail curved behind it happily.

Erica was given an elegant wolf with long light fur, stood with a strong stature, head lifted high as if in defiance. And Boyd, a muscled, dark wolf, sat with its head turned as if shying away from attention humbly.

Derek took a moment to set both of their wolves on the table and silently pushed them together, showing them how the two wolves fit together like puzzle pieces. The head of Boyd's wolf fit perfectly under Erica's high-tilted snout. It symbolized the nature of their relationship perfectly: Boyd, physically strong, protective but submissive to Erica, who was naturally emotionally resilient and beautiful.

Erica and Boyd both smiled, looking to each other lovingly. Then, Erica jumped up and hugged Derek. He smiled softly, wrapping his arms around her in return. "Thanks, Derek," she whispered before plopping back down next to Boyd and holding his hand tight.

Finally, Derek made his way to Stiles, and set a carving of two small foxes in his hand. One was stood on an inclining rock, higher than the other, body tight and held with the resolve to attack, head low and tilted with eyes ever-observant and manipulative, poised with obvious malice and chaotic intentions within. The other was sat beside it on the same rock, but lower, with its fluffy tail curled around it, body loose and relaxed, head tilted high with its nose to the sky, carefree, eyes closed with the face pulled into something akin to a happy foxy expression.

He could see the symbolism between everyone else's carvings, but he didn't understand this one.

"Why?" Stiles asked quietly with the carving held carefully in his hand. He had several 'why's. Why foxes? It was obviously a reference to the Nogitsune, but why would Derek associate him with such an awful thing? And why did he get two? Not just two separate carvings, either; two foxes in one carving.

Derek stared into his eyes, mouth opening, but shutting. He looked desperately at Peter, who rolled his eyes. "What he's trying to find the words to say," Peter told him, "is that you've _never_ been a single entity." Derek took a seat but Peter continued, looking deep into Stiles' eyes. "You've always been the sly one, intelligent and tactful, but always under the radar. Even before the Nogitsune," Stiles flinched minutely, "you were always the fox... 'The cunning of the fox is as murderous as the violence of the wolf.' That has always been the case for you. Naturally, there are two sides to who you are. What we see, and what you never let us see."

Stiles stared down at the foxes in his hands in perplexion, but deep appreciation. He thought about Peter's words and... they were confusing... But still it felt like a compliment. "Thanks."

There was a pause within the room as everyone admired their carvings. Derek's ears turned steadily to a bright shade of red.

Finally, the Sheriff looked up and pushed the room towards progress. "Anything from you?" he asked Peter, who smirked and cocked his head.

"I'm here. Isn't that enough?" No one was surprised, of course. Stiles never expected Peter to have something to give to someone, even if he did have a higher opinion of him than the rest of the pack.

But when Derek looked over at him with a sharp look, Peter huffed quietly and grabbed the wooden box that still sat open on the table. Stiles didn't expect that. Peter brought a present to Christmas?!

He took out the foam from the bottom of the box and rummaged around inside, then came out with a standard white envelope he hadn't bothered to wrap. He got up and stepped over to the Sheriff. "I heard," he said as the Sheriff took the envelope and Peter returned to his seat, "that the station was experiencing a few monetary obstacles that were leaning towards the ultimatum of a layoff."

The Sheriff's eyes got wide and he looked up at Peter as if he couldn't believe himself. Then, slowly, he untucked the flap of the envelope. When he saw what was inside, his gasp was audible. Meanwhile, Stiles' brain slammed to a halt with the news.

"What?!" He snapped. His dad looked over at him with a wince of shame. "You never said anything about a layoff, Dad!"

"I didn't want to worry you," his dad said softly. "They were saying they were going to have to let me go... And I knew how much you would've tried to fight that." Stiles scoffed, offended and angry- no, absolutely _enraged!_

"Damn right! They can't do that!" he insisted.

"No, they can't," Peter agreed, and everyone looked over at him. He nodded at the Sheriff as he pulled out of the envelope a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills. "Now they don't have to."

The Sheriff was stunned into silence for a moment, carefully tucking the money back into the envelope, then he got to his feet and stepped over to Peter, holding out a hand. "Thank you," he said insistently, shaking Peter's hand when he complied. "Thank you, Peter."

"Well, we couldn't have the town's best getting kicked out of authority." Peter smiled up at him softly. "Where would the town be if not under your protection?"

"Never knew you had a heart, Zombiewolf," Stiles said, genuinely thankful. He shared the same sentiment, after all. He didn't know what he would've done if his dad lost his job. It would've been world-shattering for his dad. The time he got temporarily fired because of some of the strings he was having to pull to make sure the secret of the real nature of the night didn't come to light nearly broke him. Stiles couldn't imagine how his dad would've taken it if he was permanently fired.

"Rest assured, it was only for selfish reasons," Peter replied, though Stiles didn't figure he was fooling anyone anymore.

The Sheriff sat back down and held the envelope close to his chest, then nodded at Stiles. "It's your turn," he said with a still-tight throat.

Stiles took a deep breath and let it out roughly, physically shaking off the nerves. Too many nerves. "Right. Okay." Time for the big show, he supposes.

He grabbed a small box with the top and bottom wrapped separately so that he didn't have to rip away any when he opened it and set it in the middle of the table, displaying a bunch of earbuds. "This is my present to everyone," he said nervously, earning no reactions. Not that it was anything particularly spectacular. No, that would come later.

Next, he grabbed the box that had been sitting beside that one which was roughly the same size. He set it in front of Derek and Peter and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as Derek reached forward to easily rip away the paper with a claw. He opened the box and pulled out the two black wolf figurines, turning them over in his hands for a moment before looking up at Stiles with a slight smirk and a raised brow. "So, uh, it seems you and I had the same idea," Stiles said with a nervous chuckle. Derek, to his credit, smiled with a small huff of a chuckle and nodded, setting the two wolves down on the table in front of them. Both wolves, black as night, were stood in awkward stances, as if carved while they were frozen in movement. Peter leaned forward and stared at them.

"What are they made of?"

"Obsidian," Stiles replied, then rushed on to the next present before they could ask any more questions.

He grabbed Lydia's present, held within a shoe box, and he slid it over to her. She ripped it open and reached in to grab a folded mess of metal. When she pulled it out of the box, it snapped into shape. Not that there was anything magical about it - that's just how it was made. It had hinges and springs that made that possible. It was a sleek black bow that would put even the best bow in the Olympics to shame. Still in the box sat a dozen black-tipped arrows, and two dozen sharp-metal-tipped arrows.

"Wow," Lydia breathed in honest awe. She held the bow in her hand, running her fingers over it, peering into the box at the arrows. The bow was something very symbolic to Lydia, since it was Allison who had taught her how to use it. She'd never allowed herself to get one, though, because she said that Allison was always the one who knew exactly what to get.

Stiles had decided he'd fix that for her.

"Thank you, Stiles," she said sweetly, leaning over the table to give him a kiss on the cheek.

Stiles smiled to himself and ducked his head as he grabbed the last one, heart still pounding hard. He slid the small, palm-sized box over to Peter and watched as his brows lifted in surprise. Seems like he wasn't expecting to receive a present.

After all, while everyone had a heap of presents beside them, Peter was the only one without a single one. Stiles had predicted that, hence why it was so important he get a present today.

Peter leaned forward and unfolded the taped bottom, sliding the paper off without ripping it. He tilted the velvet blue case in his hands thoughtfully before gently opening it.

His expression went slack in soft appreciation and awe when he saw what was inside. Stiles drummed his fingers on his knee as he watched Peter pull out the matte black and shiny silver cog watch. He'd known Peter liked cog watches since the first year he'd become more than just a begrudgent ally and more like a friend. They'd been in the mall with Lydia and Erica, dragged along to help her design her birthday party, and they'd passed a stand with hundreds of beautiful cog watches. Stiles had stopped because all of the shiny stuff had caught his eye and Peter had joined him.

Stiles had noticed that his mood had tanked considerably from the teasing banter they'd had just moments before. At that moment he had been frowning, upset, maybe even mournful. He had sighed after Stiles had asked him what he thought of cog watches and said, "The last thing a werewolf wants is an appliance that makes constant grating noise."

"So you don't like them," Stiles had surmised.

"No," Peter had replied, then paused. "I think there's a few that are wonderful pieces of art, but, regardless, they are simply _annoying_."

Before they had left, Peter's fingers hand lingered on one which had a matte black metal band with elegant silver carvings within, and a dark black face with the entire inter-workings of the watch's cogs and gears visible and artlike.

The one that Stiles had found was almost exactly like that one, only it was also water-proof and made with much stronger metal and glass... it may also have been obtained illegally but no one's going to know.

Stiles could see the reluctant disappointment in Peter's eyes. It was obvious that he loved it, but he knew that he could have have a cog watch that wouldn't drive him insane. Even more insane than he already was. His shoulders fell heavily and he looked up at Stiles with this sad, sorry expression. The ticking of the cog watch was loud even to Stiles' ears. He could only imagine what it was like for a werewolf.

"Stiles... You gave a werewolf a cog watch?" Peter asked, slightly defensive, like he thought this was a personal jab.

"No," he interrupted, and bit his lip hard. Now was the time.

He reached forward and paused with his finger hovering just over the watch face. He focused for a moment, tapping into the magic residing within him, and focused it. _Come on_ , he told himself, _we've done this before. We're naturals at it at this point._

Finally, once he could feel the energy coil at his fingertip, he tapped the watch face.

All at once, the noise vanished. He knew for a fact that, even with werewolf hearing (or, for his test, a stethoscope), there was no sound - not even the most minuscule sound of tiny pieces of metal grinding together.

He closed his eyes and felt his magic take hold of the watch and he branded it in. He knew that everyone in the room would see a small simmering of fire-bright cracking light around the watch before it soothed out, signalling that the watch wouldn't lose the magic it was affected with even if Stiles were to die. That magic forever belonged to the watch. Nothing could take it away except Stiles himself.

Stiles leaned back and opened his eyes, looking at Peter (whose expression suggested he was simply stunned), and said, "I gave a werewolf the _only_ cog watch in the world that wouldn't drive him insane... -er."

Peter stared at him, completely silent while everyone stared at him like he just grew a second head for an awkward amount of time, so he then faced the rest of the people in the room. "The earbuds..." he reached out and touched them, showing off the magic branding them, too in that show of cracking fire-light. "They block out all sound, even to the pesky sensitive werewolf ears, and no matter how loud you have them, you will hear nothing but flawlessness. Not even the residual static of the electricity powering them."

He touched the two wolf figurines in front of the Hales. "These are not just figurines." Once he branded them, they moved. Finally, their awkward stances made sense, as they finished their steps and sat down, staring up at the Hales before becoming frozen in time once more. These wolves would move on their own, whenever the wolves themselves saw fit.

He then reached out and showed off the magic branding Lydia's arrows and bow. "The bow is enchanted - it basically ensures any arrow shot from it will go fast and stay fast with very little effort. As in, as long as the force won't break the arrow, you can shoot one through a steel wall. These arrows- they are definitely strong enough for that, but _these_ ones, the red-tipped ones... Well..." He gave a bashful smile. "You should go try them out."

Still, he got stared at. No one was moving. It was mostly expressions of awe or astonishment or surprise, with a few outliers; Derek looked suspicious and a little scowly, but he always looked that way so he honestly couldn't tell how he felt; Peter had a soft look of dawning understanding on his face and an impossibly soft look in his eyes that Stiles couldn't figure out; his dad just looked decidedly constipated.

Eventually, the staring got uncomfortable. "Like, now." Stiles pushed. "Try them out now." He got up and grabbed the red-tipped arrows. "Come on."

Finally, there was movement. The pack all got to their feet distractedly and he heard mumbling as he led the way out of the door. Everyone followed him outside in front of the house's big windows, nestled in a clearing of the trees.

"Stiles, when did you learn to do magic?" Scott asked, and everyone stood behind him as if physically asserting their agreement with that question.

"I found my Spark," Stiles said simply. "You guys knew that... You just didn't know how natural I actually am with magic now that I have it."

"We definitely didn't!" Melissa said with a cut-off laugh, although, within her surprised expression was something akin to glee.

"I certainly expected you would be a natural," Peter said softly with a smile.

"Uh, well... Thanks." Stiles scratched the back of his head, pulled a distressed face, then grabbed Lydia and brought her over to him. He handed her one of the red-tipped arrows and took a few steps back, gesturing a universal 'go ahead'.

Lydia finally took her eyes off of him and put the arrow on the bow. "We'll be talking a lot about this later," she promised him.

"I'm sure. Just shoot it already."

"Shoot it where?"

"Dude, the sky."

She glanced at him incredulously, but obeyed. She lifted the bow towards the sky and pulled back the string, and into the air the arrow flew at incredible speed.

For a moment, there was nothing and Stiles was worried he'd messed up the magic, but then, high up in the sky, the firework went off. He smiled to himself as the green and red plaid pattern erupted from the center, followed by sparkling like metal snowflakes that rained all the way down just before the trees. It wasn't done there. From that center, which flickered brightly, emerged a fully colored and 3D Santa and sleigh, equipped with reindeer which ran through the sky and bells which jingled, the sound falling slowly down like the snowflakes which felt purely surrealistic.

The show lasted for about a minute, commentated by the pack's noises and exclamations of excitement and admiration. Once the last of the shimmering particles had gone out in the sky, there were shouts to shoot another.

Each of them were different, and Stiles had taken great care in designing them. It had taken nearly 36 collective hours of... basically meditation. They were his own works of art. Stiles laughed and grinned along with his friends, accepting the hugs and the pats on the backs and the insistences that he needed to tell them more about his newfound magical powers.

It was when the third one was shot into the air that a gentle hand grabbed his own. He turned to see Peter stood there, a soft smile in place. The bright colors in the dark sky reflected in his eyes and lit up his skin and the shine of his hair.

"Come here," Peter said quietly, and led Stiles into the house, hand in hand. Stiles found himself blushing and feeling all too emotional what with the hand-holding. It felt intimate, and that was a rarity for someone like him. Especially with someone like _Peter_.

"I wanted to thank you," Peter said as they walked around the house, lifting up their joined hands to show Stiles that he'd already put on the watch.

"Yeah, no problem," Stiles replied with a smile, staring down at their hands. For some reason, it made him feel all warm and fuzzy and bubbly to see his gift on Peter's wrist.

"I don't remember telling you I've always wanted a cog watch," Peter continued. "And I surely don't remember telling you exactly what style I liked the best."

Stiles shrugged and blushed. "When we were at the mall, you mentioned you thought there were a few that were like works of art, and one in specific caught your eye before we left."

Peter looked over at him with too much significance. "You are extraordinary." Stiles blinked at him, stunned by the compliment but neither of them said anything after that. They made the rest of the walk in silence.

When they got inside, Peter pulled him over to the desk at the windows, then stopped right in front of it and turned towards him. Stiles stared at him, expecting him to say something, but all Peter did was point above them with the hand that wasn't holding his.

Stiles looked up at the soft orange light above them and saw a little bundle of mistletoe hanging from it. Before the meaning of this even clicked, Peter's hand slid along the side of his neck, thumb pressing into the underside of his jaw. Stiles looked down at him, and they stared at each other for a moment. Stiles' heart had taken lift off and his brain was trying to run a million miles an hour, but it was all silent nothings. Like he was running along a track that wasn't there.

"Peter..." Stiles said breathlessly, a little scared but too wanting to pull away.

Peter must've known this, because instead of saying something or maybe waiting for Stiles to make the first move, he stepped closer and tilted his head. He brought them nose to nose and lingered, sharing breath with him. Stiles wondered if he was intentionally waiting for Stiles to come to his senses. Because when he finally did, he was the one who tilted his head and pressed his lips against Peter's.

The first touch of their lips was like the fireworks that were currently going off outside exploding within Stiles' body. Stiles let go of Peter's hand so that he could clutch the sides of his shirt, and Peter's hand settled on the other side of his neck, guiding him into a deeper kiss.

It felt like time stopped. It was so cliche, but so true. It felt like, in that instant, all that existed was he and Peter, and the people right outside the window shooting fireworks into the air were just nonsense background noise. It felt like they kissed for years, when, in reality, Stiles broke away for breath only a minute later.

He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, nervous of what this meant, but absolutely giddy in excitement that it was happening.

"From now on," Peter whispered, forehead to forehead while his thumbs caressed his cheeks, "feel free to do anything you want to me."

Stiles swallowed thickly and his heart pounded hard at what that insinuated. Not only was it an invitation to do _anything_ , it was also a submission of power. For Peter to allow Stiles free reign over him, that would mean he was giving everything to him. He couldn't really mean that, could he? "Anything?"

"Anything."

"Because... you know... if you don't mean that-"

"I do mean _anything_ , darling." Peter's lips brushed across Stiles' own, whispered, "Anything," and he pressed forward to bring them into a kiss again.

The next time they broke apart, Stiles' brows pulled together. He didn't understand. It was too sudden to wrap his head around. "Why now?"

"I never thought the time would come where I could get away with breaking down those boundaries. But today... The time was right," Peter replied meaningfully. "I took my chance."

Stiles swallowed again and daringly pressed closer, winding his arms around him more. Sudden or not, he was capable of recognizing a once in a lifetime opportunity, and he wasn't going to let it pass without thoroughly testing the waters first. "Well... I-I'm glad you did," he said back just as quietly.

"Mmm, me too," Peter said with a smirk.

They kissed again, deeper, more passionate, more intense, intimate, and just as Stiles was getting into the groove, actually feeling confident in making out with Peter - so confident he had slid his hands up the back of Peter's shirt and hadn't freaked out when Peter had moved one hand to his ass to pull him fully against him - there was a hard knocking on the window that startled both of them.

Because the pack was outside those windows, right there, and they could see everything. And they _did_. Everyone was staring - well, some were respectfully blushing and smiling in sympathetic happiness while others looked a bit floored.

His dad, the one who had been knocking on the window, was wearing a tight frown, however. He pulled away the side of his jacket and pointed at the badge and gun he still had on his hip.

Stiles couldn't help but grin and laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation. Never in a million years did he expect Peter to actually kiss him - _make out with him_ , no less - but at least he could expect his dad to act like this towards anyone who showed him even an ounce of interest.

He looked back at Peter and removed his hands from under his shirt, but Peter still held him close by the waist so Stiles threw his arms over his muscled shoulders instead. Peter looked happy. For the first time, he looked truly, undeniably happy, and that made the biggest smile spread across Stiles' face. Even if this didn't lead to a life-long relationship, or even a relationship at all, at least he could say he got the best Christmas present he could ever ask for.

Stiles chuckled through a giddy breath and stared into Peter's Arctic blue eyes, soft and twinkling with the light coming from the window. Peter leaned in and brought him into another kiss, despite now knowing full well that the entire pack - including his dad - was watching.

It felt like a challenge.

And a promise.

Peter broke apart from the kiss to smile wide, but his arms stayed around him, staying close in a way that told Stiles he wasn't planning on leaving _any_ time soon.

Considering the man _died_ and yet stands here in front of him now, Stiles believes it.


End file.
